


neither of us will be missed

by kuude_rest



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Despair (Dangan Ronpa), Chiaki lives, Help I Don't Know How To Tag Things But Please Read My Silly Fic, Hinata Hajime & Kamukura Izuru Are Merged, Hope's Peak Academy, Island life, Junko is Dead, Kamukura Izuru Has Feelings, M/M, Nonbinary Kamukura Izuru, Panic Attacks, Psychological Trauma, The Kamukura Project, The Tragedy of Hope's Peak Academy, Therapy, Trauma, Well sort of Non despair because they did all experience it, mental health
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2019-08-28 09:33:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16720821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuude_rest/pseuds/kuude_rest
Summary: When Junko Enoshima's plan to spread Despair around the world begins and dies at Hope's Peak, the students that remained after the crisis were never quite the same again. With the assistance of the Future Foundation however, these few individuals involved are gently encouraged to seek out help - the utopia of Jabberwock Island. Izuru Kamukura is one such individual affected by not only Junko Enoshima's plan, but also through the Kamukura Project itself; and they're not entirely sure why everyone is insistent on calling them 'Hajime Hinata.'





	1. PROLOGUE

**Author's Note:**

> heavily inspired by “the silly idea of existence”  
> go listen to saint bernard bc it’s all i’ve been listening to this entire time whoops,,, this is also super super self indulgent and some things DEFINITELY won’t line up with the canon plot  
> oh and the therapy stuff is all based off of the therapy sessions i’ve had over the past eight years. It’s probably entirely inaccurate but this was how i remember it from being in england  
> Trigger warning for stuff like mental health, ments suicide, feelings of worthlessness, self harm etc. kind of a heavy fic as i explore into the ,,, sheer nastiness,,,,, that izuru’s gone through but it won't focus on or romanticise these things, because i'm not about that life yeet

When they wake up for the first time, they wonder briefly where they are. They’re ushered out of a pod  —  helped to stand  — ~~_no, don’t touch me_ ~~ — and they’re guided to a seperate room, a room they’ve never seen before. There’s no point in noticing the details, they’re too focused on the twisted expressions on the faces of those in front of him. 

They can understand what they mean. The man sitting in front of him — from the way he’s perspiring, pupils dilated slightly, a nervous smile on his face, that he’s excited; but upon analyzing this, they feel nothing. 

It’s not long before he’s assigned a name— ( _ Izuru Kamukura _ ). He’s told how old he is. ( _ 17 _ ). He’s told his gender and his purpose. ( ~~_ Male _ ~~ .  _ Ultimate Hope _ .) 

Izuru briefly wonders why he’s assigned such a title.

He doesn’t feel anything, after all, and in his head, he can recall the word’s meaning with  _ ease _ . 

 

> hope, /həʊp/

(noun), plural, hopes.

> A feeling of expectation and desire for a particular thing to happen.  
> A person or thing that may help or save someone.   
> Grounds for believing that something good may happen.

 

Briefly, a small thought crosses his mind. 

> A feeling of  _ trust? _

But he notes that most of these meanings infer that he must feel, and he knows that what he is currently feeling is apathy. He wonders if this apathy would ever develop into anything else, but then he realizes that there’s no reason why it would. He has an arsenal of information in his head — and a lot of it feels alien to him, despite knowing it’s his. His body is nothing more than a vessel to him, he realizes. 

He’s told that his purpose is to become a beacon. That he is a beacon, and that his duty is to… Well, even to him it feels like a foreign concept. He’s unsure of what his purpose really is, and he realizes that the explanation that is given to him by faces he’s too disinterested in to remember is superficial. Fake.

This is only solidified when he sits through numerous tests. Solving mathematical problems. Learning languages. Writing works of poetry. Playing instruments. 

He knows how to do these things, and as he’s tested it’s when he analyzes how meaningless it all is. Another word flickers through his head, and he summarizes that he has none of it.

 

> passion, /ˈpaʃ(ə)n/

(noun), plural, passions.

> Strong and barely controllable emotion.

> The suffering and death of Jesus.

 

It briefly comes to his attention that passion is what drives humans to become as talented as he is. But he’s just woken up with these talents, and again he wonders if he was once passionate—— and his mind short circuits, stopping at a blank. 

~~_ Boring. _ ~~

~~_ Passion, hope, feelings. It’s all boring. _ ~~

These thoughts come so naturally and quickly to Izuru that it’s easy for him to shut down the original. But he knows he’s empty, that what he is lacking in is passion, but Izuru doesn’t know how to attain that. And that is an enigma, because Izuru knows lots of things. And Izuru learns very quickly, but he also knows that you cannot teach people how to feel, because he cannot express empathy. And empathy is important, he thinks. He learnt this when he was asked to complete a test surrounding his Ultimate Therapist talent. He had been presented with a number of phrases. 

“Things are difficult for me at home. I don’t know what to do.”

_ “Move out.” _

He knew what he had meant to say, but the words had come far too quickly for them to be rational. 

“I’m feeling lonely.”

_ “You have no reason to be. Go and talk to someone.” _

He knew, and yet his words were empty and monotone.

“I want to end my own life.”

_ “What’s stopping you?” _

He figured that this statement had struck something with the boring people who were testing him, because after this test, he was guided back to ‘his’ room, and left alone to— well,  _ exist _ . There’s a suit left on his bed, and he takes the time to change out of his robes — though as he analyzes them, he realizes that it’s more of a hospital gown than it is a robe, and he comes to the conclusion that this must be where he’s from. 

Given the nature of ‘his’ existence, how ‘he’s’ come into being without quite knowing who ‘he’ is, and where ‘he’ is from, ‘he’ again comes to the conclusion that ‘he’ has been created. That ‘he’ has been born out of whatever the boring scientists dictated ‘hope’ to be, and that was how ‘he’ came into existence. ‘He’ was told that ‘his’ purpose was to ‘be’ hope. Hope, despite knowing what it meant, never felt so alien a concept to Izuru. 

Izuru sits in the darkness for a long time. ‘He’ sleeps. ‘He’ is given food at scheduled intervals of time, and Izuru decides that ‘he’ is bored of thinking of ‘himself’ as a ‘he’. Gender seems like an irrelevant and boring concept to ‘him’, so ‘he’ decides that ‘he’ won’t label ‘himself’ as such anymore. They decide that in all actuality, gender is another restraint that is assigned to one another in order to portray specific roles. They know that much through the interactions they had observed from the nameless, faceless scientists. If Izuru is truly ‘Ultimate Hope’, there is no reason for them to exist within the gender spectrum. They are beyond that, because stereotypes are  _ boring _ , and they are  _ bored _ .

The darkness is Izuru’s only company for a long time, save for the intervals where the hatch at the bottom of the door would open and their tray of food would appear. They could break out of the room, but they know that they’re being monitored. And it is unlikely that Izuru could trip the electricity without being noticed - because the scientists know they possess ‘luck’( _? _ ) though they cannot rationally define how their ‘luck’ works. It is almost as though they can  _ will _ things to happen, though it isn’t as simple as that. They just know  _ how _ to  _ use _ it; but using it would incur suspicion. Izuru’s only purpose is to serve as  _ ‘hope’ _ , however, and thus there wouldn’t really any purpose to leaving anyway. So they spend their time alone in the darkness. 

Izuru practises mental arithmetic, though they know that there really is no point, since the information in their head is  _ planted _ there, deep seeded within the workings of their brain. Izuru delves deep into their subconscious, lying still for hours at a time — allowing themselves to drift in and out of consciousness through sheer boredom. There is nothing to alleviate their boredom however, so this method that they have adopted is their only activity after a while. They lay very still, their eyes closed, mind drifting through every layer of their existence. 

There’s nothing there though, so Izuru might as well have been drifting through the void. They wonder why this is, why their brain is so—  _ bored,  _ but then they come to the conclusion that understanding why wouldn’t lead them to anything consequential. So they wait for something to happen.

And they wait.

 

And they wait. 

 

And they wait. 

 

And they wait. 

 

 

 

 

_ And they wait. _

 

They hear it before they see it. There are distinctive thudding noises off in the far distance. If they focus on the sound, there are two people. Others, the guards that Izuru had established the presence of so long ago that they hadn’t bothered to remember  _ when _ , were moving to stop them, but one person was distinctively taking them down as the other waltzed through the corridor.

_ Accomplices. _

_ They know of my existence. It would make sense if my predictions about my existence are correct.  _

_ They are here to utilise me. _

_ It was predictable. Inevitable, really. _

The light spills into the room. Izuru knows that it’ll take a while for their eyes to adjust to the sudden light, and thus they wait patiently for their senses to come to. 

There are two girls in the doorway. Younger than him, clearly related.  _ Twins _ . One is devoted to the other. The blonde radiates arrogance and reeks of despair. 

_ She’s disgusting.  _

_ She’s boring.  _

The blonde raves about something Izuru is too disinterested in to pay attention to. She tries to stab them, and Izuru is quick to set her in her place. 

_ She is f i l t h y.  _

When her sister retaliates, they don’t even need to pay full attention — she’s flung against the wall without a second thought. 

“Your actions are completely meaningless. Any attempt to assassinate me is entirely futile.” 


	2. goodbye, despair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kamukura is twenty two when they next open their eyes. They’ve been counting the days. It’s been one thousand, eight hundred and twenty five days.

Kamukura is twenty two when they next open their eyes. They’ve been counting the days. It’s been one thousand, eight hundred and twenty five days. They could’ve left at any point, and they know that, but it’s boring. It’s all mundane — the outside world. They’re perfectly content in their little bubble, deep beneath Hope’s Peak Academy, alone and isolated from the world. There’s no point in leaving, after all — it’s not difficult to predict what would happen if they did. They’re talented— they have talents that most people could only dream of having, and they’ve not just got one, they’ve got _hundreds_. Talents built up from the previous students at Hope’s Peak, talents _stolen_ and implanted in their head. 

So if they left, they’d be taken advantage of. Of course they would. So they stay. 

The girls that Kamukura didn’t have the mind to remember the names of had tried. And they had failed, as they predicted. Hope had overcome Despair, just like they had predicted. The two hadn’t even managed to broadcast their so-called despair to the rest of the world. The super high school level animator — Mitarai, Izuru thinks he was called, had managed to get into the (Izuru can’t remember her name. They don’t want to.) girl’s files and had edited and deleted them all — Sakakura — another name Izuru can’t place a face to, had admitted to his sexuality and had announced that [REDACTED] had been behind it all, the classroom murder, the attempt to brainwash the Hope’s Peak reserve course students. 

Hope had truly extinguished Despair before it could even have bloomed. 

And it was predictable, really. 

It was all, so, so predictable.

So why were there people invading their space? 

It’s their birthday — or at least, the day they had woken up for the first time. They’re laying flat against the ground, eyes fixed upon the ceiling, hair billowing out across the floor. It’s dark, and Izuru is merely existing when the door to their room is quite  _ rudely  _ kicked down, light immediately spilling in. 

The people who had marched in have guns, and the thought occurs to Izuru that they must think that Izuru is dangerous. 

_ (But they’re right.) _

“Hajime Hinata?” 

When Izuru finally looks to the source of the voice, they’re met by two olive coloured eyes. The man who has spoken must be at least a few years younger than them. He’s wearing a suit like theirs, only Izuru’s grown out of theirs, so the trousers are easily a few inches above their ankles, suit jacket having been discarded years ago in favour of comfort. 

_ (A rescue team?) _

“Hajime Hinata is not present.”

They’re not sure what’s compelled them to say this, let alone why the name rings an almost  _ painful  _ bell in their mind. 

“Ah  — uh,” The man seems flustered for a moment, crouching down to meet eye level with Izuru. 

It’s almost  _ patronizing _ . 

“You’re— Izuru, then? Izuru Kamukura?”

“Yes.” They respond. 

“I’m — I’m Makoto Naegi. We’re here to retrieve you.” 

_ Retrieve them? _

It seems like an odd phrasing of words, and it almost compels Kamukura to say something in response, but they push that urge down. They already know that it’s likely that they’ve found out about their existence, and have decided to make use of it the best they can. 

But they’re not going to do that, because Izuru Kamukura is perfectly content in their little bubble. 

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” They state blandly, turning their head away from Makoto’s now confused expression, returning to their spot on the ceiling. They realize now that the room is off-white with the light flooding in. They hadn’t noticed that before. 

“What?”

“Attempt to remove me from this room, and I cannot guarantee the safety of the men you have brought with you,” Izuru’s tone is firm, and  _ bored _ . It’s assertive enough to know that they’re not joking. “Why are you here?”

Though they already know the answer. Their talents are… Well, beyond any other, so why wouldn’t they want them? 

There is silence in the room for a moment, and Kamukura finally sits up, staring blankly at the man who had dubbed himself as ‘Makoto.’

The man shifts uncomfortably under their gaze. Izuru’s expression never wavers, and this only seems to unsettle the man as they stare one another down. It seems as though Makoto can’t find his voice, so Kamukura waits patiently for Makoto to speak again.

“We’re-“ he starts, his voice unsteady, unsure. It seems that Kamukura has that effect on him; making him uncomfortable, it seems. Though it seems that they’re not just making Makoto uncomfortable, because the security that came along with him could be seen shifting awkwardly at the exchange. “We’re an organization, designed to help - help the world recover, I guess. As I introduced myself before, my name is Makoto Naegi, fourteenth division of the Future Foundation.”

Makoto keeps talking, the words helping him find his footing. “I imagine you know who [REDACTED] is - who attempted to orchestrate what she called, ‘The Biggest, Most Awful, Most Tragic Event in Human History’ right?”

Izuru just stares at Makoto, as if to prompt him to keep speaking. 

“R-Right, well… I imagine you know what happened, considering -“ he pauses when Izuru narrows their eyes ever so slightly. “ _ Anyway _ , well, we were able to contain a lot of the disaster, though the work of the Future Foundation, the undercover agents and us, the students, we were able to stifle [REDACTED]’s efforts, though, not without loss, and great difficulty. To this day - there are still those affected by her actions, still those who deal with the consequences of her behaviour. You… Are one such person, though your circumstances are… Slightly more complicated.” 

The person blinks. “How so?” They feel like they’re missing something. They know they contributed to the despair. They did - even though they felt nothing, and still feel  _ nothing _ , when that final student died before him. 

“You are not the product of [REDACTED]’s despair.” 

“You are the product of  _ Hope’s Peak’s _ Despair, and their attempt to physically manifest hope.”

 

* * *

 

If you asked Kamukura why they agreed to go with Makoto, one would argue that it was Makoto’s threat that sent them along with him. Makoto had warned Kamukura that they had two options after all - they agree to his therapy routine, stay on an island; rehabilitate. Or execution. 

Kamukura was dangerous, afterall. And they did carry a murder charge on their head, even if it  _ was  _ in self defense. 

Makoto told Kamukura that he would be free to do as they pleased once they passed through all their health checks, once they made it through the  _ psychiatrist’s  _ assessments. It seemed easy enough. Seemed somewhat different to Kamukura’s usual boring routine - which was, until now, drifting through the barren halls of Hope’s Peak Academy, quietly wondering why they felt so bitter, so empty. So void of purpose. The change of pace would be interesting. Would provide them with something to tide the time until they were given a new purpose. They could escape easily enough, if they got bored anyways. The lieu of talent that Kamukura had… It was so easy for them to do  _ anything _ . 

Anything but  _ feel _ . 

A light tapping on their door shook Kamukura out of their daydream. They had arrived on Jabberwock Island a while ago - and was told that they would be given a psychiatrist soon, and that they were free to investigate the island at their own discretion. They didn’t explore the island, though. In fact, they never even left their room. Four days; confined to their ‘hut’. It was laughable, really. Their residence was a quaint little room, sitting just above the water. An ensuite bathroom, a comfortable bed, room filled with books and an easel, drawing utensils, even a landline telephone. It was all rather cosy,  _ homey  _ even, though Izuru couldn’t quite find it in themself to enjoy it. 

So instead, they lay atop their bed. Izuru had been given a different set of clothing upon arrival, too. No longer did they don their undersized suit, rather, a pair of grey slacks and a white t-shirt, white socks and grey slippers. They’d have to ask for another suit or something soon. Or they’d have to leave the island - they couldn’t keep wearing that sort of material. They weren’t particularly  _ uncomfortable, _ rather, it was a preference that Izuru had, and almost clung onto. It was the only semblance of a personality that they had, after all. And that intrigued them, because there was a small feeling in the back of their head, and it had been present for years, aching to get out. They hadn’t quite figured out what that was though, yet. It was almost like it was suppressed, confined like a rabid dog in a cage. The cage shook, but nothing could get out. Izuru wondered when it would, and if it would cause a scene like the rabid dog. 

The knocking came again. 

Izuru wondered what would happen if they stayed still. There were a few conclusions. They’d go away eventually, leave them to their own devices; they’d stay until Izuru opened the door - banging incessantly until they moved, or they’d let themself in like Makoto had done a week ago. 

They quickly decided that they didn’t want someone bursting back into their space, and slowly arose from their spot. Izuru was plagued with minimal motivation; lack of self worth, lack of passion and  _ care _ . 

“M-Mr Kamu-K-Kamukura?” The voice called. The anxiety in their voice said it all - they were  _ frightened _ .

They sweep over to the door, and before the person gets the chance to knock again, the door swings open. 

Mikan Tsumiki had changed considerably since Kamukura had last seen her. Her hair had clearly grown longer; the badly butchered hair that had been calling Kamukura’s name to  _ fix  _ had grown out - the choppy lengths finally even. Her fringe was finally full too, and she wore her hair in two buns on either side of her head. It seemed that the dress code was the same for everyone though, because she adorned the same grey slacks, white t-shirt and grey slippers that they did. 

Izuru stared at Mikan as she played with her fingers. She’d gotten better at eye contact though, because she’d managed to keep her eyes trained on them as they stood before her. 

“Izuru is fine.” They confirm. “What do you want?”

She seemed a bit taken aback at their bluntness, their eyes cold and calculating as she fumbled with her words. 

“Ah, u-um… I wanted - to invite you t-to breakfast t-today, since, uh, I’m supposed to g-give you your t-timetable.” She offers them a smile, her eyelashes fluttering. A nervous habit. “B-But…You don’t have to c-come…! I just - you’ve been in there for… For a few days and everyone was… S-Starting to get worried, so… I wanted to… To m-make you feel welcome.” 

They notice that she’s also no longer wearing her bandages. They can’t see her legs, but notably there’s a large scar running down her right wrist. It’s healed over, and it’s clearly been years since the initial wound, so Izuru doesn’t say anything. 

“If I don’t have to come, why are you asking me?”

Mikan stops in her tracks, her eyes widening. They’ve caught her in her tracks.

“A-Ah… Um…” 

Izuru blinks, waiting for Mikan to speak again. They didn’t intend on making her panic, but she seemed to be unsure of herself all of a sudden. 

“It’s fine. I’ll come with you.”

Mikan’s expression almost immediately lightens up. 

“Do you have this  _ timetable _ ?” 

She nodded eagerly, digging around in her pocket for the slip of paper that allegedly had Izuru’s timetable on it. When she actually did get it out however, handing it over to them, all it stated was that Izuru had an appointment in the hospital at three pm, every Wednesday. Therapy, they supposed. 

“Thank you.” They pocket it, not that they feel like they need it, and start to shut the door behind them, when Mikan stops them. 

“D-Don’t you need… Anything b-before you leave?” 

Izuru narrows their eyes. “No.” 

Mikan smiles bashfully, gesturing to their hair. “I-It’s just that… Your hair… I-It’s so l-long… You might trip someone up with it,” she hums. She’s already taken an elastic hairband from her pocket and has slid into their room, indicating that Izuru should follow her. The action is surprisingly forward, particularly for her behaviour prior, but Izuru’s memory of her is clouded at best. 

They remember interacting with her - though they never truly established a ‘ _ relationship’  _ of sorts. They were probably acquaintances at best, though Izuru imagined she’d be too embarrassed to talk about it. Hopefully. They’re suddenly unsure of what to say, as Mikan sits them down in a chair, hands gently combing through their hair. 

When they started worrying about other people, about themselves, they didn’t know. But they certainly didn’t like it; and genuinely would rather be without it. 

“Ka - Izuru…?” Mikan asks quietly, after sectioning off their hair into little partings. It seems that she intends to plait it, but considering how long their hair is - it  _ trails  _ on the floor after them - it’s going to take a while. It’s early in the morning though; so Izuru doesn’t care. “Do you… Remember what I was like around…  _ Her _ ?”

Izuru nods briefly as Mikan gently starts braiding their hair. 

“I… I just… Wanted you to k-know that… Whilst I know that you - weren’t  _ affected  _ like me - that I’m… Better now. That I’m not - like  _ her _ … I’m not… Like  _ that _ .” She’s braiding different sections of their hair, pulling it up out of their face. “I-I know I… Didn’t know you before you… W-Were  _ you _ , but… I hope t-that maybe w-we can be friends… Since we’re… Pretty much l-living here together on t-this island, and it… Might be easier for you if y-you’re familiar with s-someone you k-knew before but didn’t necessarily h-have a bad past with…” 

They wonder who she’s talking about. Izuru doesn’t care much - at least, they didn’t care before they came to the island. Already they’re starting to wonder, starting to think about others and it’s… It just  _ feels _ wrong. Like someone has moved into Izuru’s head and is trying to take the reigns. Mikan is trying to get them to talk to her though; that much is apparent. 

They’re not sure if they’re entirely comfortable, but it’s a change of pace. They might as well attempt to play along, since there’s nothing else for them to do. And if Mikan is this persistent, then who knows what the others are like. 

“It’s fine,” Izuru clarifies. “Thank you for your consideration.”

Izuru can feel her smile from where they’re sat.

Mikan gently pulls Izuru’s hair from their face, starting to braid the sides so that their hair is up and out of their face. Their fringe is a little difficult to pull entirely out of their face though, so whilst part of it is pulled free, it still dangled in front of their eyes. 

“Have you cut it since..?” She asked. Her hands are gentle, soft. Izuru reckons that Mikan is enjoying this - they recall her talent afterall, which implies that she thrives off of helping others. Nursing them. 

“No,” they confirm. “I haven’t particularly cared for it.”

“Maybe… I could cut it for you sometime, if… You wanted?”

Her stutter is a lot less prominent now. She seems a little more comfortable now that Izuru is attempting conversation. 

Preferably, it’d stay long. Izuru’s not sure why they’d prefer this, but something in their head told them that they wouldn’t quite like it if their hair was… Short. “Perhaps a trim.”

“Of course…! I like your hair as it is - I… Wasn’t implying that I didn’t, though! Just that… It might inconvenience you, you know?” 

“I see. Thank you.” Izuru offers up in return. 

She’s quiet again, methodologically braiding sections of their hair as Izuru stares out of the window. In the distance, they can see the sun rising slowly. They tended to avoid the window in the time that they had been there; preferring to remain unseen, though every now and then they’d catch a glimpse of the outside and see groups of people walking and talking together, going off to goodness knows where. Izuru briefly wonders about peace, and about whether they’re living peaceful lives here, but the thought leaves their head just as quickly as it came. Their thoughts did that a lot, lately. 

It’s not until Mikan is working towards the end of their hair that Izuru speaks again, prompting the conversation for themself. 

“What do you talk about in therapy?”

They feel Mikan stop for a moment, before she continues her work. “...Well… Anything, really.” Her tone is hesitant, thoughtful. “For… Example, in my sessions, we… Work on stuff like confidence..! Or… We talk about stuff that bothers me… I think… I think it varies for everybody, though. Some people have… Different things they need to work on, so...  What you’ll talk about might be entirely different to what I talk about, for example..!”

They might possess the Ultimate Therapist title themself, but applying therapy to themself seems a little… Odd. Perhaps it’s their own denial, but self diagnosing themself doesn’t particularly seem appealing. 

Kamukura seems to consider this as Mikan ties off their hair, clapping her hands together happily as she inspected her handiwork.

“There you go..!” She hums, circling around him. “It’s… It’s a bit feminine, but it’ll help until I can cut your hair for you.”

Bringing a hand to their newly braided hair, Izuru shrugs non committedly. “That’s fine.” 

Mikan nods, eyes fluttering closed. “I’m glad…!” She smiles at them, and they blink in response. “Thank you for being so nice to me,” she begins, “and for letting me help. I - I find it easier when I can help others… Because talking to people about things without feeling like a…  _ Burden…  _ Is hard, you know? So… Thank... Thank you very much for being so patient with me!” She seems to exclaim the last part of the sentence, opening her eyes so that she’s looking directly into their eyes. “I hope - I hope that I can call you a friend, I-Izuru!” 

“If that’s what you desire.” Their expression is blank, but upon noticing her expression falling they realize very quickly that she is feeling disheartened. 

It takes them a moment to decide what to do with themself until they decide on their course of action. 

Izuru Kamukura smiles at Mikan.

She sort of stares at them for a moment, eyes widening in surprise before she takes their hands in hers, beaming from ear to ear. “Y-You don’t have to force yourself into things you’re n-not ready to do, Izuru…! But… I’m so glad…” Her smile is so genuine that Izuru concludes that they made the right choice smiling back at her. “Let’s… Let’s go to breakfast together, yeah?” 

“Very well.” Is all they state in response. They seem fairly disinterested, but this time Mikan is not so disturbed by this. Rather, she seems happy that they’re comfortable enough with her to have at least tried, and Mikan figured that -- that was enough for her. 

Mikan guides them up out of their seat, and her expression is airy as she leads them over to the exit of their cabin. It’s almost odd, properly leaving. Izuru isn’t sure when the last time that they had a proper meal was; though perhaps it was starting to get unhealthy if the naturally petite Mikan’s hands were bigger than theirs. The hand that isn’t being held by hers very quickly brushes against their pocket, and an odd sense of relief seems to wash over them before they leave. They’d let them keep some of their personal artifacts, though Izuru admittedly only had two. They wouldn’t ever leave their pocket, but they were theirs, and theirs alone. They outright refused to hand them over in the first place, and when Makoto was allowed to inspect them, he very quickly understood and had the items cleared. 

“I hope the others will like you!” She exclaims.


	3. new beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Izuru starts again.

When they step into the main dining hall, an eerie silence befalls the room. Izuru trails slowly behind Mikan, whose smiling and babbling away about how much her friends will love and appreciate them, but they’re not really paying attention to Mikan. Or anything, really. They feel like they’re viewing the room from a second pair of eyes; like someone else is watching the people around them  _ for  _ them.

It doesn’t bother them that people are only talking in hushed tones now, that Mikan keeps nervously laughing as she tries to prompt Izuru to pick something to eat from the options there. When they finally phase back into reality, there’s an apple in their hand, and they suppose that it’ll do, considering Izuru very rarely ate anything. Mikan watches him with worry etched into her features, but she smiles instead and leads them over to a table in the far off corner of the room. 

“G-Good morning,” she hummed, setting her tray down at the table.

The room was open plan - orange walls and grey flooring, large windows allowing sheets of light in. The tables are grey, more like benches if anything, and there was a kitchenette area as one walked up the stairs. It felt bigger than it was, though perhaps that was because there weren’t that many patients in the cafeteria yet - some sitting alone, others sitting together with food. 

The people at Mikan’s table were people that Izuru recognised. One was the twin sister that had tried to stab them, who sheepishly looked down at their tray as Izuru sat. Another was a student that Izuru had seen, but hadn’t the energy to converse with - Aoi, they believed her name was. A broad shouldered woman sits beside Aoi protectively, and the student Izuru knew to be the Ultimate Imposter sat alongside them. 

“Who's your friend, Mikan?” Sakura asked gently, her eyes inquisitive. It seemed that many of the students of Hope’s Peak didn’t know about the Kamukura Project, though that fact didn’t particularly surprise them. 

“Y-You’re…!” They’re interrupted by another white haired fellow, pale eyed and hair that reminded Izuru of clouds or cotton candy. Lithe hands reach out to shake at Izuru’s, and Izuru isn’t quite sure how to feel about this. When he realises Izuru’s indifference, he drops their hands almost immediately and sits down across from him. “Ah… I’m sorry, how dare a low life like me touch the hands of someone so  _ hopeful… _ ”

Izuru blinks, and then bites into their apple. They’re not sure what to say, so they just chew at their apple thoughtfully, perhaps a rude gesture to anyone who doesn’t know them. 

“P-Please don’t talk about yourself like… Like that, Nagito…” Mikan says, her voice expressing nerves. “T-This is my f-friend, Izuru…” 

Sakura nods, chewing at her own food. “It’s nice to meet you, Izuru.” She greets politely. 

Aoi nods in agreement, her smile bright. “I’m Aoi Ashahina,” she says, unperturbed by their manner. “This is my friend Sakura, that there is Mukuro,” she gestures to the sheepish twin who hasn’t looked up once, “and this is uh… We just call him pal, because he won’t tell us what his name is,” she laughs brightly as the Imposter nods his head at them in acknowledgement. “I’m glad you managed to get Mikan to say more than ‘I’m sorry!’, though, because she normally comes in and apologises at least twenty time for being late…”

“A-Ah, I’m…” But then Mikan stops herself, and laughs at herself. “Y-Yes… I’m trying to work on my apologising… I t-think I forget that… I don’t have to apologise just for existing…”

“I see,” Izuru finally chimes in. “Apologising for no reason other than existing is a waste of time.”

The table falls silent, and Izuru reorganizes their words. They have the talent, so they should at least try to use it. 

“...You can’t help your existence, so why apologise for it.” They finally add, and Mikan’s expression turns grateful. 

“T-Thank you…” She says. Izuru’s not sure why she’s thanking them, but they quickly come to the conclusion that there’s no point in opening their mouth without thinking about it first. “H-Have you looked at your timetable yet…?”

It seems oddly school like to them, but they shake their head and unfold the slip of paper from their pocket. It seems that that’s what they all want them to do, based off of basic social cues and expectation, so they look down at the sheet of paper with bored eyes. 

He’s to see a person called Miaya Gekkogahara on Tuesday, but other than that, their timetable is blank. Mikan peers over their shoulder and nods once she reads it. 

“We t-tend to have fairly free schedules… M-Mostly so we can relax and t-try and put everything we’ve learnt into practise…” She explains. “O-Or so we can h-hone our talents… I tend to… Help out in the medical centre during t-the week, because… I like h-helping people and feel more like myself when I do.” 

“Many of us tend to spend time with others,” the Ultimate Imposter says. “Rebuild previously burnt bridges,” he says as he nudges Mukuro gently with his shoulder. 

In the meantime, Nagito had just been watching Izuru intently, like he wanted to speak but hadn’t said anything out of politeness. Izuru supposed they should say something in order to keep up with the social etiquette, but instead takes another bite out of their apple. Their appetite is rather small, it seemed. 

“Perhaps you should come and join us later, we’re planning on going and spending some time on the beach,” the Imposter suggests. 

“It would be my honour to spend time with someone so talented as yourself…” Nagito chirps, finally able to speak. “Forgive me for being so bold but… My luck would truly be shining on me today if you would come with us....” He trailed off, picking at his food. 

“Y-You haven’t forgotten a-about your m-medical appointment later, have you, Nagito…?” 

“Ah… Bad luck befalls me again… Of course…” He trails off, the excitement draining from his face.

Mikan suddenly reaches out to touch his hands, frowning at him. “Y-You’ll just be a little l-later than e-everyone else, Ko… I-It doesn’t mean you can’t go.”

Izuru finishes their apple as Nagito thanks Mikan profusely for her logic and berates himself for being so forgetful. They don’t feel right again - like they’re not entirely in the room, more like the entire room is submerged in water and they can’t see or focus on anything properly. They stand suddenly, and begin to leave the room, despite the surprised protest of their newfound…  _ Friend _ ?

As they move out of the room, they are unaware of the eyes following them, the mixed looks of concern and curiosity on their faces as they proceed towards the exit. It’s at this point that their hand is grabbed by someone, and a voice seems to cut through the water. They turn, and look down.

It’s the same person. It’s  _ her  _ \- her voice is hauntingly as soft as it had always been. The voice that had haunted their sleep for a millennia - her desperate pleas for help. Her voice, begging them. 

_ ‘I don’t want to die.’ _

But this time, she’s holding his arm tight, hair loose and curling at the ends, donning the same clothes that they did - the only major difference being the wheelchair she’s inhabiting. Izuru could only do so much in the time they were given. 

“H-Hajime…?” She asked quietly, eyes watering. 

It’s that name again. Izuru doesn’t know who or what Hinata is, why people - Makoto,  _ her,  _ kept addressing them like that.

“I… I see… You don’t… Remember…” She says letting him go. 

Izuru blinks, and their face feels wet. The pink haired girl blinks - she’s not expecting this kind of reaction from them at all, but she doesn’t have time to process it before Izuru turns away and walks out of the cafeteria, the girl calling out after him unhappily. 

They don’t feel right. The water is rising, and Izuru feels like they’re being swallowed whole by it’s engulfing emptiness. Like they’re being pulled further and further into the sea and they’re struggling to breathe and - oh. Their awareness seems to seep through like a ray of light, cutting through the water. They’re dissociating again, though this time it seems that they’re also on the verge of a panic attack, and they’ve somehow made it back into their room.

Breathing is much harder to control than they can manage. No amount of talent or knowledge can stop it from happening, and they feel their legs giving way. It seemed that panic attacks happened to even the best of people, that no one was immune to having mental health problems. Izuru knew this most of all, at least they definitely knew it now as their breathing becomes shallow and their heartbeat becomes the only thing they can hear, all feeling gone from their body except for the cold, harsh feeling of panic overwhelming them.

Their head falls into their knees and the wetness on their face becomes more apparent, and - hell - is Izuru dying? Logically Izuru knows they’re in a perfectly stable bodily condition, that they sustain enough nutrients to keep themself from shutting down, but their body isn’t responding to their logic. Their breathing is ragged and wet, chest heaving and hands shaking. They grip at their hair as they wheeze, eyes fixated on the ground. Why won’t it stop? 

And then they feel hands on their shoulders, muffled talking suggesting that they grab them something sweet to drink, and Izuru’s head is lifted to be greeted by Mikan’s calm expression. They can’t make out what they’re saying, but they can see that she’s trying to get them to breathe with her, so instead they focus everything on her, and her breathing. They’re not sure why she’s even there, holding their shoulders to ground them, her expression devoid of any nervousness or anxiety that she might’ve faced before. They see the other person she was with return, set something down on their tabletop and feels the blanket they brought with them onto their shoulders. When his senses slowly start to come back he realizes it’s the broad shouldered woman who Aoi had introduced to them as Sakura, who had eventually positioned herself at the doorway of their room to give them space.

“Izuru, you’re okay, I promise. You’re safe and you’re not where you were before, okay? Please keep breathing with me,” Mikan’s voice slowly starts to filter back in with their senses, they must’ve been sat there for ten minutes at least, considering the stiffness of their body. 

“Please try and relax and focus on what you can feel and see and hear, Izuru.” She says again. “Can you do that for me?” 

Izuru doesn’t reply, but in their head they understand what she’s trying to do for them. She’s re-grounding them, putting them back into a position of control, back in control of their bodily functions. So that they feel secure enough to breathe properly again. Their logic is telling them that there’s no reason to be like this, that there’s absolutely nothing to even be panicking about, but their body is shivering and the distant voice of that soft spoken pink haired girl whose name escapes them. 

_ ‘I don’t know who Hinata is,’  _ repeats itself in their mind, and it’s only when Mikan is consoling them that they realise that they’ve said this out loud, and repetitively. 

“Izuru… I know who you are. You’re Izuru. You’re safe, and I won’t go anywhere until you feel alright again.

She sticks by that promise.   
  


* * *

 

 

The sea is surprisingly warm for the time of day. The sun is setting, basking everything in a soft hue of orange, the sky a watercolour painting of deep pinks, oranges and airbrushed yellows.  Izuru lets the water pulse over them. Mikan and the others sit on the beach far behind them, a picnic blanket set down into the sand, Imposter sitting with Mikan whilst Aoi and Sakura sit together at the sea’s edge, allowing the water to lap over their feet. Mukuro sits alongside Mikan, thoughtfully chewing on an apple as she reads, Izuru collarbone deep in the sea.

Their hair is set adrift. The plait had come undone amongst the chaos of earlier in the day, but thankfully Mikan and Sakura respected them enough to keep the event to themselves. Seafoam settles around them, swirling around their body in complicated patterns, some resting in the swirls of their hair that floats atop the gentle tide, others pushing forward, striving towards the beach.

For the first time in a long time, Izuru feels at peace. The light basked them in a warmth that they weren’t sure they had ever felt, the sun a crown against their sea sodden clothes. But again, Izuru feels peaceful, droplets of water sitting in the pieces of hair that hasn’t graced the sea, reflecting the light in such a way that their pale skin is illuminated and hints at more golden tones to his skin beneath the masses of hair that Izuru possesses. 

It takes everything in them not to lie adrift and float away to wherever the sea feels like taking them. They know that logically, they’d figure it out, but still the sea manages to throw Izuru off. The unpredictability, despite the position of the moon, the pull of gravity - there were still uncertainties about the sea in particular, and that was what excited Izuru the most. It was odd to even be able to feel anything like that; but they felt it, and that was something they wanted to hold onto. 

Komaeda watched them from a distance. Knowing their luck they’d trip and stumble over a rock trying to make his way over to the deity he’d dubbed ‘Hope’ after Chiaki had told him about them, but they were nothing like they had imagined. Komaeda had selfishly thought that someone akin to them would be charming, polite - everything that Komaeda wasn’t. And it was a rude thought of his - and he despised himself for even  _ thinking  _ it, but after watching them leave that morning, he came to the conclusion that they were the kind of person that was just as broken as the rest of them there. He feels awful for even thinking it, but… The thought was there, and he couldn’t ignore it. Like he should try to treat Izuru like he treated others - but the sentiment was what bothered him. Izuru had saved his best friend’s life after all - and had inadvertently saved their class from falling into despair. The trauma existed. Chiaki certainly felt it - their classmates too; after all, they had all witnessed  _ Her  _ killing game, had seen Chiaki impaled and beaten and thrown around, all of them powerless to stop it. 

So he stays sitting, watching the man in silent admiration. Perhaps it’s a little creepy - no - it’s  _ quite  _ creepy, and Komaeda feels somewhat uncertain around the other man. It’s not like he  _ doesn’t _ want to talk to them - well, of course he does - they’re, well,  _ talented, _ and he’s not. And there’s an aura around them, just as he felt around everyone else, this odd creature - though Komaeda can’t believe he’s calling them ‘odd’ - that he just can’t  _ not _ talk to them. 

He remembers the first time they had met - how he had pulled a gun to them, how Izuru had so gracefully disarmed him, the gentle yet terrifying grip on his waist before they shot him square in the chest. He’s not sure if it was intentional that Izuru had shot at his student handbook, but without that luck he wouldn’t be here, basking in the sight of Izuru contemplating within the sea. 

The light behaves like a halo around the former, it’s radiance almost depicting Izuru as a painting or a work of art. They truly look angelic, just as Komaeda had assumed them to be. Komaeda doesn’t realise that he’s made his way over, collar bone deep beside them until Izuru speaks; it seems as though Izuru is slightly shorter than him, given the way the water only laps at his collarbones whilst Izuru’s are submerged.

“You are friendly with Mikan, no?” Though this isn’t an assumption despite it being phrased as a question, it’s more of a statement that invites a conversation. It’s apparent that Izuru - though they have nothing to gain from a conversation akin to this - is  _ trying _ ; as though the panic before jutted Izuru to a point where they realise they are a human appendage just as everyone else was. It was hard to remember that fact. 

“Perhaps  _ friendly _ isn’t quite the term to use when it comes to myself, ah, I’m not,  _ really  _ the sort of person someone would want to be  _ friends _ with, though I enjoy her company, even if it despicable for me to waste such a talented and strong person’s time like that…” 

Izuru turns their head. The light hits their face from one side, the sunlight reflecting off of the deep crimson of their irises. “You’re implying that you find yourself repulsive.” They say. 

Komaeda seems a little taken aback by their blunt observation, but it’s the truth - he does. “Ah, you… Are observant,” he says.

“Naturally.” Izuru says, as though they’re stating a blatant fact. Their voice is rather monotonous, Komaeda notes. “Though for someone who quite clearly should have died by now, you ought to find some sense of pride in yourself.” They add. “Your luck, whilst something I too share, precedes you. Unless that is, death is something you desire.”

There is a short silence. In the distance, Aoi and Sakura are giggling, splashing one another with water; Mikan’s gentle cries. It’s so peaceful that Komaeda almost lets himself forget where they are, why they’re there. 

“I…” Nagito starts, but then he cuts himself off. He holds his hands up in front of him, just above water so the light reflected against his hands, water pooling in and out of them as it carries its course. “Not particularly, I suppose… It would just be my luck if I were to die, though a burden would be lifted from those I cared about.”

Izuru watches his hands quietly in thought. Komaeda can see the cogs whirling in their head with minimal effort, can see how they’re formulating a response. He speaks before the other can.

“Ah, but I shouldn’t burden you with those thoughts, that’d be wrong of me, after all, we’ve just met, and I wouldn’t want to give you a bad impression - even for someone like me--” 

As he talks Izuru takes his hands and inspects them silently. His hands aren’t scarred, his skin is smooth and his hands lithe,  _ graceful _ .

“We have met before,” they explain. “You attempted to murder me.” Izuru reminds him.

Ah. That.

Komaeda’s eyes widen and he looks away.

“Yes, I… Remember.”

“The gun jammed on you, I recall.” Izuru adds. “You reached out after I retaliated. You seemed rather flustered, though I suspect that was result of the bullet impact.”

The man takes his hands back slowly, running a hand through cloud coloured hair - tinted a light orange from the sunlight. 

“That… Was a misjudgement on my part, I… Don’t…” Komaeda tries.   


“Things were rather overwhelming at the time judging from the situation,” Izuru counters. “You viewed me as an enemy at that time. It’s quite understandable.”

“You’re not an enemy, Iz-  _ Kamukura _ . Our luck had us in the wrong place at the wrong time. I… Wasn’t thinking. And I shouldn’t - I shouldn’t have behaved like that, and I… I am truly regretful… And if there’s anything I can do to help… Erase our first impressions of one another - I’d… There’s nothing I wouldn’t do.” A gentle smile crosses Komaeda’s face, a calm reminder of his subservient nature.

“I see.” Izuru stares back out into the sunset. “My name is Izuru Kamukura,” is all they can come up with, holding out their hand to Komaeda. 

The man takes it gently, like he’s frightened of touching anyone. “Nagito Komaeda, it’s nice to meet you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello i am back, sorry if my pov keeps jumping about and i miss pronoun my own headcanon smh... just lmk bc i'm my own beta reader pfft  
> hi izuru has feelings too  
> afterall  
> a creature shouldn't be denied it's existence  
> thanks izuru <3 <3


	4. trying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> izuru talks to miaya and chiaki, and komaeda reaches out

Izuru doesn’t do things on a whim. They do things because they can, rather than because they want to. Because there’s nothing that interests them, nothing for them to strive towards or anything to live for. They simply just exist, and have never had an ulterior motive, or for that matter, any motive at all.

“Izuru?”

Her voice cuts through the water, and Izuru is back.

Miaya sits across from them, watching them with inquisitive eyes. “I was asking about your diet. Is something on your mind?”

Izuru shakes their head. “No.” They say simply.

The therapist looks disbelieving, but she doesn’t push it any further. “Very well. Can you tell me about the sorts of food you’d eat? The sorts of food you eat now?”

“I am unsure as to why this has any relevance to my mental well being, which I assume is the reason as to why I’m present, no?”

“You’re right, but you’re my patient, and you should understand that well being as a whole is my concern.” Miaya says. “And through observation you are… Rather small for your height.”

Izuru mulls over this. Perhaps what she’s saying is right, after all - their bones are... Quite visible, and their health was something that they never really considered when they were stalking through the empty corridors of Hope’s Peak. “Nothing in particular,” they settle on. “I would eat what I could find in the school building.”

“And what about now? Can you tell me of your eating habits now that you’re here? How many meals do you eat per day, whatever seems of importance to you.”

“Whatever seems of nutritional value, and whenever I’d need to.”

“I see.” Miaya notes this down, she’s had that damned notebook by her side ever since the appointment started. “I’ll be referring you to do some medical checks as it is, so please attend those appointments when they arrive, but I would like it for you to attempt to start eating regularly, please. And how are you sleeping?”

It feels incredibly invasive, sure, but Izuru knows that this is standard procedure. Questions that Makoto couldn’t ask them whilst they were in transit.

“Five hours.” Izuru says.

“And do you have problems sleeping?”

“No.”

“Do you have nightmares?”

“Frequently.” There’s no point lying. They can tell that she’d know.

“Does this make you feel as though you can’t sleep?”

“I get the amount of sleep I need.” _Rather than desire_. They feel tired.

“I see.” She says. “I want you to start a regular sleeping pattern. I’ll have someone speak to you about that. Can you tell me about the nightmares that you have?”

“I don’t remember them.” They say. They’re avoiding the truth. It’s her. It’s always her.

Miaya puts down her notebook and stares at Izuru inquisitively. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with yesterday, would it?”

Izuru pauses for a moment. Watches her. Of course she’d know. “Perhaps,” they state. They’re not sure why they’re being so evasive.

“Do you feel as though it’s something you can talk about?” She questions, her tone was changed slightly, it’s softer.

“No.”

“Very well. And do these… Episodes… Happen frequently? Have you experienced panic attacks quite often?”

“No.”

“And do you dissociate frequently or is this a symptom associated with your panic attack?”

“Yes.” Izuru says. “I don’t experience panic frequently.”

Izuru tells the truth. They’re not sure why, or what this will achieve, they feel like they’re stating the obvious, that it’s pure fact that they’re expressing. It feels like they’re back in the testing room, being asked questions over and over again, being prodded and questioned, the tubes, and the needles and the-

“Izuru?” Miaya asks, bringing them back out of it once more. “It’s apparent that you have a significant amount of trauma, but I can’t help you unless you take the steps to help yourself. It’s important that you remain as open as you can be with me. I’m here to help you, but only if you’d let me.”

They pause again. It’s weird. They don’t particularly know what to say - it feels routine and depersonalised, as it always has done. “I dissociate often.” They settle upon saying.

“And what does it feel like?” Miaya asks gently. Her hair curls around her shoulders, blue eyes inquisitive, gentle. _Questioning_.

Izuru isn’t sure how to describe it. There’s a plethora of skills lodged in their brain - poetry, art, culture, none of it enough to explain. Everything in their brain feels like scientific fact rather than something that they feel like they have a passion to talk about, so the words don’t come easily.

“It feels like I’m submerged in the ocean.” Izuru finally settled on. “Everything is muted, the world, the colours, sounds and voices. All merged together, and all I can hear is the water flowing around me.”

Miaya nods, and lets them continue.

“There’s just. The sensation of drowning. As though I have lost something, but I never know what it is."

 

* * *

 

Izuru decides that they never really feel anything after talking to Miaya. It’s been a few weeks, nothing has progressed for them, there’s still that sinking feeling that they had talked about from the first session, and Miaya had them practise grounding exercises, trying to keep Izuru afloat in the sea that Izuru so often drowned in. Mikan would bring them along with her to meals, a silent exercise for them that took most of their energy out of them, listening to the group of friends talk and plan things during the week, always too tired to attend. They were eating regular meals, being escorted to the hospital on the island to be checked up on - another activity that further drove them into dissociation, and would sleep for eight hours instead of their aforementioned five, plagued by nightmares that would just make them feel like they hadn’t really rested at all.

But there were no more panic attacks. Izuru purposely avoided the small girl they now knew to be ‘Chiaki’; a name that Izuru hadn’t known until then. Her clip still rests in the pocket of their trousers, but it’s not something that they feel ready to give up yet. They’re not sure why. It’s not as if Izuru has feelings - they’re fairly certain they don’t, or at least, there’s a sharp pang in their brain whenever they think too hard about the emotional turmoil that Izuru has undoubtedly suffered from, a sharp reminder that they weren’t designed to feel. They were designed for the sake of scientific research, designed to see if talent could be manifested and bestowed, designed for everything but feeling.

They’re sitting in their bedroom when a timid knock resounds though their room. For a moment, Izuru thinks about not answering it, but the door opens anyway, so they suppose there was no point in knocking in the first place.

“Forgive me for being so… Intrusive.” A familiar voice says. “How rude of someone so low and disgusting to invade someone’s privacy, especially yours, but…” The tuft of cloud coloured hair is what Izuru sees first before they see Komaeda stood in the doorway, almost looking uncertain.

“I wouldn’t have left the door open if I had cared.” Izuru confirms, startling Komaeda somewhat. It’s true, though. Izuru doesn’t care enough about their privacy otherwise they’d have locked the door - though it’s not as if they cared either way. They struggled to care about… Much, really.

“I see!” His smile is pleasant, somewhat unnerving considering the words that tumbled from his mouth beforehand, but Izuru can’t bring themself to feel unnerved by it at all. “Anyways, I… Was wondering something.”

Komaeda shuts the door behind him, and trails into Izuru’s room. It’s bare, much barer than his, for example. Komaeda’s room was one filled with small trinkets he’d deemed ‘pretty’, a few small plants that didn’t require any human interaction to thrive, which suited him perfectly considering his streak of luck. He slowly sits beside Izuru on the bed once he realises that Izuru isn’t protesting to his presence, and for once, it comforts him.

Izuru doesn’t turn to look at him however, their hand pressed into their pocket. Komaeda sits so close that they can feel their shoulders touching, but they pay it no mind.

“Is there anything in particular you enjoy?” Komaeda asked.

The question throws Izuru off. It’s not something that they’ve put much thought into, despite their talent allowing them to do… Anything they wanted, but they have nothing to want. Nothing to strive for.

“Not really,” is all they say, but it doesn’t stop Komaeda from rambling on.

He watches them carefully. “Ah… I see,” he says. “I enjoy gardening.” Is what he settles on saying. “Though I’ve never been very good at it, the last time I tried to grow something, _sunflowers_ \- they grew into venomous fly traps somehow and tried to eat me alive, which is… Just my luck. Though, I was wondering, with the assistance from someone like yourself.. If you’d… Grace me with your hopeful presence, if you’d like to help grow some more.”

“More venomous fly traps?” Izuru asks plainly. If it were anyone else, Komaeda would know that their voice would be filled with curiosity, but it’s Izuru, and Izuru doesn’t emote all too often, if at all.

“No, ah, I have… Convoluted the conversation topic with my poor choice of words as usual…” Komaeda sighs at himself, though the smile never leaves his face. “Sunflowers, I meant. They’re supposed to be in season soon, and Miaya says that gardening is good for mental health and stability. Like a pet, only… It would be difficult for us to have animals on such a small island, that and I’d likely bestow back luck upon the animal just as much as I would with anything else.”

Izuru turns their head then, to peer at Komaeda thoughtfully. He just smiles, digging in his pocket to retrieve the brightly coloured packet.

“Give it some thought, though I’ll leave them here in case you wouldn’t want to grow something with the likes of me.”

And like that, he’s gone, self deprecating personality and all, leaving the packet of sunflower seeds in their lap to peer at analytically. They’re unsure as to why Komaeda is even bothering with the likes of them, considering that he most likely knows that there’s no point in pursuing Izuru’s interests, for they have none. Logically speaking, Izuru understands that this is a meagre attempt at reaching out, so Izuru later allows themself to drift asleep, peering at the packet of seeds that they lay beside their pillow.

It takes Izuru a week to come to a conclusion. Miaya encourages them to at least try and pursue something, even if it seems uninteresting or, ‘boring’, as they so eloquently put it, and thus they find themself outside Komaeda’s door, knocking lightly against it, seeds in hand.

When Komaeda does answer the door, he seems surprised that Izuru is present, peering at him with those cold analytical eyes of his.

“I am unsure of what you are trying to achieve here,” they say calmly. “But though I already know the potential outcomes of what this is, I shall indulge you and grow these with you.”

Komaeda practically beams at them.

As they sit on his balcony, potted plants in front of them, Komaeda chatters away to himself. It seems that Komaeda is gradually becoming less and less self depreciating - it’s almost nice that the conversation isn’t constantly interrupted by comments of disgust at himself. Like he’s trying - and at least the therapy is working for one of them.

“My parents died in a plane crash,” Komaeda says, “though I know that my luck is also aligned with fate, so I’m able to accept it and accept the things that my luck - both good and bad - bring,” he gently pats at the soil that he’s packing into their flower pots. His is - suitably - green, whilst Izuru’s is yellow. It almost makes Izuru wonder where he acquired them from, but the thought goes away just as quickly at it comes. “My luck has ensured that you came around and agreed to grow these with me, so I suppose the good comes with the bad. The bad being that… These do turn into Komaeda eating plants - as vile I may taste - and I fail yet again at tending to a plant that actually needs me.”

Izuru hums to signify that they’re listening, pressing the soil a little gentler than Komaeda is. They know how to garden - of course they do - so it’s unlikely that they’d grown into carnivorous plants. Or at least. Izuru’s won’t.

“Our luck is different, however, don’t you think?” Komaeda asks suddenly, looking up at them. Izuru’s sitting on their knees, so they’re taller than Komaeda for once.

They tilt their head inquisitively, showing some sign of interest into Komaeda’s insight.

“Almost as though your mere presence balances out my luck.”

“I possess that talent myself, that much is true,” Izuru says.

“Mm, but I would’ve experienced several disasters by now if you weren’t here, as is usual for someone like me.”

“Someone like you?” Izuru inquires further.

“A disaster,” Komaeda signifies, waving dirt covered hands around.

“You don’t strike me as a disaster, Komaeda.” Izuru confirms. This much is true, though they haven’t really seen how he’s a disaster, except the one time Komaeda’s gun had jammed when he had tried to kill him. But Izuru also knows that they had been the one to make it jam, through a process that Izuru can’t quite explain. Their luck was just - there - and Izuru willed things to happen, and they did.

“Ah, well, you’d of course say that,” he said, shrugging them off. “But, I am the product of years of disaster, and I do feel as though the reason as to why we’re all here in the first place is down to my luck - why… _She…_ Existed.”

“I can understand that,” Izuru replies after some thought, “though in that sense it seems as though you blame yourself for what happened at Hope’s Peak -” their talent as a therapist is kicking in, they can feel it whirring in the mechanisms of their brain. “You shouldn’t. That was fate.”

“Fate and luck are all too similar though, wouldn’t you agree?” Komaeda asked. “If I am fated to stumble across such a hopeful entity like yourself, then it wouldn’t be wrong of me to assume that is my luck playing a part, no?”

Izuru lets out a breath, and gently eases the sunflower seeds into their bedding. “No. They are different things.”

“But I feel like your mere presence balances out my streak of luck.” The male says quietly. “When I joined you in the sea all those weeks ago, I didn’t trip, or drown, like my luck would have normally had it.”

“Why would you-”

Komaeda presses himself up against Izuru suddenly, knocking his pot aside. It rolls around on the balcony, though it doesn’t break, just leaves soil strewn across it.

“In a normal circumstance, where you weren’t here, Izuru, I feel like that pot would have broken, and I would have cut myself, or caused a disaster.” Izuru can feel his breath on their lips, they’re pressed against the ground, arms pinning Izuru down. “It’s…. So hopeful that I… Feel like you… Are the only thing that will save me from my own luck.”

Izuru watches Komaeda from where they are. They had predicted that something like this could’ve happened - the options were endless. They knew that Komaeda had either wanted to get closer to them - though the thought that Komaeda wanted to get this close to them because of their own talent, was unsurprising, but not entirely thought about.

“It’s not surprising that you would feel that way.” Izuru says, their tone unaffected. If this goes where they predict it will - they can feel Komaeda growing warm, and his body language proves correct, then Izuru’s reluctance to leave Hope’s Peak Academy would be correct. _They’re being used._

“You’re the first person I’ve ever met, whose… Truly made me feel this way,” he says. “Even back at Hope’s Peak, I… Felt as though you would change my life, and… If I am correct then… I wouldn’t want to let that go, though it is… Hopelessly selfish of me.”

Izuru blinks. “It’s my talent that makes you feel this way,” they remind him. “You are only experiencing this because you view myself as above you.”

“Perhaps,” Komaeda says. But then he just laughs, and pulls away from them. “Ah… I’m sorry. I was too forward, I… Can’t imagine how disgusted you feel about this.”

They sit up, and thankfully - though they’re surprised that they feel like this, their plant pot hadn’t been jostled in the venture.

“If you truly felt that way,” Izuru’s regarding his behavior, “you ought to push your affections onto someone else. There is no point in pursuing a relationship here.”

Komaeda’s face quite literally turns red, and he laughs again, that unsettling smile crossing his face. “Izuru, I’m sorry that you feel that way, but that's not what my intention at all. I was… Merely suggesting that I wanted to become closer as friends, though if someone as hopeful and as talented as yourself would ever… Even consider something like that, I would have to decline in fear of not being enough.” He scoops up the soil and repots it, reaching over to take the packet of seeds and plants them into his own pot too, before reaching for a watering can and waters the two pots before settling them into a sunny spot.

“No,” Izuru cuts in. “I am incapable of returning your affection,” which is the truth, they feel… Nothing, almost all of the time, and they’ve never truly felt anything worthwhile holding onto. They have nothing to pursue. “I do not feel like others do.”

“Ah…” Komaeda sats. The conversation is easy, despite the situation. “Perhaps you are like me, then. The fact that you… Someone like you… Can’t feel… Is almost like you’ve fallen into despair.”

“Do not forget that I was once at her side, Komaeda.” Izuru warns.

“That doesn’t frighten me in the slightest, Izuru. There are plenty here that were like yourself, and they’ve never threatened my existence, only myself to my own.”

“You ought to talk to Miaya if you feel that way.”

“I should, but I don’t. Personal preference,” he says, smiling like he always did. “Perhaps you should go. I’ll come and get you when they need tending to,” he nods to the plants, and Izuru can’t help but feel a little empty at the suggestion - emptier than they normally do. It’s as though something has been stirred within them - a frustration that they are incapable of feeling, or emoting, or expressing.

This frustration seems to bother Izuru for the next few weeks. They don’t bring it up to Miaya, nor do they talk to Komaeda about it as they tend to their plants. They’re growing, small green shoots poking up from the soil, but Izuru can’t find it in themselves to feel _proud_ of their accomplishment. It’s frustrating in a weird way - like being on this island is enough to make them want to feel. It doesn’t help that they surround themselves in the people that Mikan has befriended, either - it only becomes more obvious that no matter how talented they are, they can’t feel. And that _bothers_ Izuru.

They certainly feel something when they see Chiaki sitting on the beach on her own however, a pang of something unrecognisable - guilt, perhaps? It’s this guilt that leads them to her side, settling themself onto the sand despite wanting to turn tail and run away. And perhaps it’s the feelings that Chiaki seems to evoke that draws them to her - it’s the only real time when something other than apathy really gets to them.

“Komaeda said you and him were growing sunflowers together,” she says quietly, staring out at the sea. “I’m glad that you’re pursuing something, H- Izuru.” She corrects herself quickly, hands clenching at the fabric of her trousers.

“Indeed,” they say in agreement.

“I’m sorry that this had to happen to you, Izuru.” She says, and Izuru isn’t sure what she means by that. It’s enough to get them to ask, their voice for once carrying a sense of hesitance.

“You kept calling me ‘Hinata’. Why is that?” Izuru asked.

Chiaki freezes for a moment, staring out at the sea, letting the sound of it calm her. Like she was wrestling with guilt herself. “He was… A very close friend of mine,” she says. “I’d meet up with him after school and we’d play video games together, and I cared about him a great deal. But he was… A reserve course student, so I think he wrestled with feelings of worthlessness because he didn’t have a talent.” She speaks slowly, but Izuru can’t find it in themselves to feel any connection to the person she’s talking about. “He disappeared one day, and I never saw him again. It wasn’t until… I met you that… I figured out where he went.” Her voice is thick is remorse. “And I feel guilty about it to this day. Like I wasn’t enough, like I didn’t do enough to stop him…”

“Where did he go?” Izuru’s voice is quiet now.

“Izuru… You’re Hinata. I… Just don’t think you remember.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeet i threw this one out of my ass i hope u enjoy it tho


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